Eyes Like Mirrors
by tamaraface
Summary: AU 1970s A series of events bring Spencer and Ashley together until they can't come apart.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Eyes Like Mirrors

**Author**: Tamara

**Rating**: R for language, drug use, and sexual content, all involving teens.

**Pairing**: Spashley.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own South of Nowhere, I just like to play with other people's toys.

**Summary**: A/U (1970s) Spencer and Ashley find each other and nearly lose everything else.

**Author's Note**: I realize how inadvisable it is for me to begin yet _another _WIP when I have so many unfinished, but frankly, I don't care. I feel like writing this one now, so I hope you feel like reading it. Un-beta'd and poorly proofread. Any mistakes are my own.

**Feedback**: Yes, please.

--

Ashley is doing something to her guitar that involves toying with the strings. When asked, she will say that she is tuning it. This is not true. There is a very short list of things in this world that Ashley wholly grateful for. Her guitar is near the top. It is _never _out of tune. Ashley is busying her hands. She lets them dance over the frets and tug at the strings, they play at chords and tease out notes waiting to be written. Right now, Ashley doesn't trust her hands anywhere else. Her fingers are already itching to go where they're not wanted. They are aching to hold what they cannot keep. Her ears are pricked against a sound (knocking) she does not want to hear. Her stomach is flipping at something she does not want to anticipate. Her feet will carry her to places she does not want to be. Ashley's whole body will rise against her in mutiny and she will have no choice but to concede. After all, it is _inevitable._

Ashley's happy fingers will pull open her bedroom door and everything that is on the outside will tumble _in._ Ashley hears loud music (if you call _that_ music) echoing off thin walls. She smells tobacco and marijuana smoke and it tangles with the scent of stale beer. She feels old air, warm and dry, scratching at her sensitive skin. She sees people, many and unwelcome, filling her poor excuse for a home. And she can just barely taste the tension rising at the back of her throat like bile in warning.

But Ashley has had none. Warning, that is. As usual, this is a surprise that has been thrust upon her, as dirty secrets so often are. Because in with the the (bad) music and smoky smells and old air and unwelcome people will tumble the source of that _tension._ The reason for the _anticipation_ and _surprise _will fall into Ashley's arms under a curtain of golden brown hair.

Then Ashley's fingers, now full and satisfied, will slam the door shut.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­--

Ashley wakes to the creaking of a mattress and the brightness of early morning. The sunlight breaks through the windows in bars, pieced by the blinds Ashley forgot to close. The bed will dip and rise when the weight of one body shifts, then leaves. Ashley will close her eyes (against the light and the leaving) and roll over to face the wall. She will instead listen to bare feet shuffling on her dirty floor, to the hasty pull of clothing over skin, to the reluctant sliding open of an ancient window. But the loudest thing Ashley will hear that morning is the silence of goodbyes that will not be exchanged.

Shouts and screams will force Ashley's eyes open again hours later. They are so punctual that Ashley can wake to them instead of an alarm clock each morning. She will rise to brush her teeth and pull a comb through her hair as the shouts get louder and she will respond to them with a groan of exhaustion and frustration and hope that her door is locked. It isn't, of course. It will be pushed open, much to Ashley's distaste, without a knock, while she is still in only her bra and panties.

"You up?" but Kyla does not wait for an answer and pulls the door closed behind her. She takes a seat on the unmade bed to wait as Ashley dresses. Kyla rises quickly, kicking, as she does, an errant pair of panties caught in the sheets tangled on the floor. They are not Ashley's. "Again?"

No answer.

"Was she here all night?"

"We fell asleep," Ashley says, her voice muffled by the t-shirt she's pulling on. "We were tired."

Kyla will say with something that might be a smirk or the beginnings of laughter: "I'll bet."

Ashley's glare will silence her quickly, it is too early for this again. Ashley buttons her jeans and says nothing. She does not need Kyla to tell her for the umpteenth time how she feels about this.

"That girl is gonna be the end of you, Ash," Kyla says, her voice equal parts worry and derision.

_Don't I know it._

----

"Aiden's here," and these words spur Ashley into movement. She pulls on jeans and a t-shirt, she steps into a pair of flip-flops as her sister slides open the window.

Ashley and Kyla will exchange no words as they climb out the window (because it's best to avoid their parents at times like these) instead of going out the front door. They are no strangers to parental disputes and have their means of escape flawlessly calculated. They pile into the Aiden's hulking Chevy Camaro (that Ashley has named Sheila) and he pulls out of Pine Crest Mobile Home Park and onto the road. Ashley has no idea where that name came from, there are a minute few pine trees in Hilliard, Ohio. The few there are are nowhere near what Ashley (not so) affectionately calls The Park. The few there are grow in The Valley where people start hanging their Christmas lights the day after Thanksgiving, where people have dogs named Lady or Spike or something equally, _achingly_ benign. And it makes Ashley a little sick to know that those trees were cultivated, extracted, and replanted where they were never meant to grow. Ashley knows what it's like to be stuck forever where you know you don't belong.

Five days later, after suffering through Algebra and History, Ashley is in English (and wishing she wasn't). Aiden is in the seat in front of her, Kyla to his right. Ashley is in the very corner of the very back of the room. She chose this seat on purpose. Once a month, Mr. Reinhart accepts submissions of creative writing. Once a month, he reads them aloud to the whole class and encourages discussions of the pieces. Ashley is (more often than not) the only one to submit anything. When Mr. Reinhart reads her lyrics, Ashley's face turns red, her ears burn, and she tries to make herself as small as she possibly can. All submissions are anonymous, of course, but hearing her own words out loud in class makes Ashley feel like she's naked. Like everyone everyone sees and is pointing and laughing.

There are things (in general) that Ashley cannot say. This is not because she does not want to say them, no. This is because she has no one to say them to. These things that are intense and raw and _real_ cannot be said to family because it would be inappropriate, if not a little awkward. They cannot be said to friends because Ashley doesn't really have any. The only person it would be right for Ashley to say them to does not want to hear them. So Ashley writes them down. She fills up notebooks and margins and napkins and any space she can put a pen to with all the words she cannot speak. And pretty soon, the words become lyrics. Then the lyrics find melodies and evolve into songs. And the songs become an outlet for thoughts Ashley didn't know she had.

There are five people in the room who know who's written this song. Ashley is the first, obviously. Mr. Reinhart is the second because, even though she did not write her name on it, Ashley is fairly certain he can recognize her handwriting by now. Then Kyla and only because Kyla sits by Ashley's door sometimes and listens to Ashley play. Aiden, well, he only knows because Kyla has a big mouth and tells Aiden things she sometimes shouldn't. The last person that knows who wrote this song (and who the song was written _for) _knows much more than that. Currently, she is sitting on the other side of the room (Ashley is three seats over, one behind) and she is listening intently. When Mr. Reinhart is done reciting, she looks over at Ashley as discreetly as possible for just a moment. But it is more than enough.

Aiden's talking now. Ashley catches "...party tonight..." and "...my place..." but stops listening because didn't they party last night? But today is Friday and therefore a more legitimate night for _actual _partying even though he and Kyla are still hungover from last night's notparty. Ashley is busy scribbling in her notebook and only mutters something in the affirmative when asked if she is "up for it." _Any place is better than home._

Aiden's house is slightly more upscale than Ashley's. Slightly. And really, this is only because it is actually a house. Other than that it is still moderately run down (but in an endearing way, like a favorite grandmother who has let herself go), still cramped, and still in the middle of nowhere. But Ashley doesn't mind. With all the people (the same ones from the day before that do the same thing, a few of them in the same _clothes_) Ashley is able to hide in plain sight. In a corner of the couch Ashley sits and broods and smolders, like a dying ember waiting to be stoked.

It's a while before Ashley decides that she will be alone tonight. So she opts for the next best thing: distraction.

Tonight, she doesn't turn down the joint that Kyla passes her. It's the weekend. She _indulges_. And she is pleasantly surprised because it is not the usual shit that Aiden scores from Dino in The Park. Ashley hears someone say that his uncle sent it to him from his farm in Peru. That it's a "special blend." Ashley believes it. It is exactly random enough to sound true. Ashley takes deep drags on thing, pulling the sickly-sweet smoke into her lungs until her chest burns and her eyes water. Then she exhales. Repeats. She smokes the joint until the butt burns her fingers, only it takes her a second to notice because everything is just a little bit dull. Dull and sharp at the same time. It makes her want to laugh.

Ashley throws her head back and shuts her eyes against the room that keeps changing colors. She wonders if maybe the pot was "blended" with something more potent, something Ashley really isn't looking to get into. She can't find the words to ask because her tongue feels a bit like cotton in her mouth, so she just sits there in self-imposed exile and tries to stop giggling.

At 1:23 exactly, (because Ashley remembers 1, 2, 3 and how it was so fucking _hilarious_) Ashley opens her eyes. She thinks she wants to go outside, that the fresh air might sober her up a bit, but her limbs are heavy. Soon, she manages to roll her head to the side in time to see the front door open. There aren't many people left at the party (not that she notices because she only sees one person), so what would have likely been a chorus of whispers and surprise is only an unassuming glance, a quiet understanding. Because they know, they understand that there are bigger things than the co-captain of the varsity cheering squad showing up this late at some loser's party. They don't wonder why she's dropping to her knees in front of Ashley, pushing her hair gently away from her eyes. They look the other way when she and Ashley eventually disappear into a back room (again) for the rest of the night. They don't ask questions, they don't pass judgment. This is one more of those things that Ashley is grateful for.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Here's the next bit. Read and review, please.

--

Spencer went to a party last night. She waited until eleven o'clock when she was sure that everyone in the house was asleep. Then she waited another hour to be absolutely certain no one would wake up. Then she spent more time dressing quietly and trying to flip her hair in the almost-dark. Sometime around one, Spencer crept down the stairs and out the back door. She couldn't take the car because starting the engine this late would wake the whole block, so she walked. To the bad part of town (which was only about half a mile away from the good part, there isn't much town in Hilliard) where kids threw parties that lasted this late.

The house she showed up at was small and poorly lit. It was cluttered. It smelled like people hadn't ever stopped smoking in it (which, Spencer guessed, they probably didn't) and the music was playing too loud. Spencer had to step around the bodies lying precariously, like fleshy land mines, all over the floor. There was one couple in the corner, a boy with his pants around his ankles and a girl with her legs spread and knees bent on either side of him like a cricket waiting to sing. Spencer looked away.

There was a couch against one wall and on it was a girl with dark hair that spilled over the couch's arm like a waterfall. _Ashley_.

"Hey there," Spencer said. The girl's eyes rolled open lazily and she blinked. Then she smiled in slow recognition.

"Spencer." The word tumbled from Ashley's lips like a question she hadn't meant to ask. Spencer crouched down next to her at eye level. Ashley was so far gone. Her pupils had dilated so far it was all Spencer could see of her eyes. Ashley was baked like a fucking cake. Spencer lifted a shaking hand (she can't help but tremble when Ashley is this close, _every time_) and tucked a loose curl behind Ashley's ear. Ashley's eyes fell shut and Spencer didn't hear someone come up behind her.

"Uh, you can put her in my room. She's gonna be out pretty soon." Spencer looked up at the boy scratching uncomfortably at the back of his neck. His name was Adam or Alex or something. This was his house. He was Ashley's friend. So Spencer let him pick Ashley up and carry her into a back room. He set her down on his bed and left them alone. Then the room became small and quiet, the only thing Spencer heard was Ashley's breathing and the end of a song seeping in under the door.

Then: "I fucking hate Styx."

"Hitting it pretty hard tonight, aren't you?"

"No," Ashley said, and it was a lie. "I didn't think you'd be here," which was the truth.

"Me either."

"Why _are _you here?"

Spencer didn't answer because she didn't know. Instead she struggled for something easy to say, something that wouldn't matter (even though it does). "I liked your song."

Ashley's breath came out slow and even like she was asleep, only her eyes were still open. She'd reached for Spencer and missed. So Spencer scooted closer to the bed so Ashley could lay a tired arm on her shoulder. Spencer cupped a shaking hand on Ashley's arm just above her elbow, started rubbing slow circles. Ashley's pot-reddened eyes were dark and smiling like they always were, even when she was angry, even when she was sad. Ashley asked again: "Why are you here?"

_Because I need you_. "Because I missed you."

"You wanna hear something funny?"

Ashley was pensive, self-examining and philosophical like she got most of the time when she was stoned. Once, she wrote an entire album's worth of songs while she'd been tripping on acid (of course, she'd only been this productive because she was under the impression that the words were living, breathing creatures inside her pen that would die if she didn't get them out) and half of them were about the color blue.

Spencer decided to humor her, Ashley would say what was on her mind whether Spencer permitted it or not. She climbed over Ashley and crossed her legs on the bed, laying Ashley's head in her lap. "What's funny?"

"I think I'm in love with you," Ashley said. Then she broke into a fit of laughter that was so violent she had trouble breathing and tears rolled down her face. "Don't you think that's funny?" Ashley breathed. "I think it's a fucking riot."

Spencer couldn't say anything.

"You know what?" Ashley said, sitting up fast, hostile and paranoid (this is how Ashley got the rest of the time when she was high). "You should go."

"What?"

"Now. You need to leave. Go."

Spencer didn't move, she couldn't wrap her head around everything at once. _Too much information_. Ashley can't just say things like that, things Spencer wants to hear over and over and never again. Ashley can't say that she loves her then kick Spencer out of her bed. Spencer wanted to yell at her, she wanted to kiss her, she wanted to slap her in the face, because how _dare _put this on her? It wasn't fair that Ashley was completely wasted right then because Ashley could say whatever she wanted and wake up tomorrow and remember nothing while Spencer, who was unabashedly _sober, _would have to carry it around like a cross on her back.

"Where the _fuck _you get off doing this to me?" Spencer seethed. Ashley only blinked at her, shocked. It was the first time Spencer had ever cursed in front of her (or anyone else) and the word sounded even more vile and dirty coming from Spencer's pretty mouth.

"Me? _You're_the one that came here looking for me. _You're_the one that sneaks out of your house and all the way across town to crawl into my bed at night. _You're_the one who won't even talk to me at school because you're too afraid that somebody might see!" Angry blood rose to Ashley's cheeks and colored her sun-kissed skin an irritated red. "Don't blame this on me, Spencer, I didn't do anything to you that you didn't ask for."

What could Spencer say to that? How could she argue when it was true? Four months ago when Spencer first showed up at Ashley's trailer, when she'd overheard Madison talking about the things that went on there (and she'd gone anyway), she'd been afraid and thrilled and dreading it all. But she wound up there in front of Ashley, drowning in smoke and music and Ashley's eyes. Ashley had kissed her. Clapton had been playing and someone was laughing and Ashley pressed her lips to Spencer's and Spencer had come undone. She'd forgotten everything, her parents and her brothers and her friends and how everyone seemed to just be pulling her apart like they all wanted a piece of her. She had given Ashley all of her. Ashley had run her hands (with those long musician's fingers) up and down Spencer's skin like she didn't know how to do anything else. After that, Spencer couldn't stay away. She craved Ashley like nothing else and would _hurt_when she wasn't with her. But even Ashley had to understand that Spencer could only do so much, could only give so much. It wasn't Spencer's fault that people and things were the way they were.

"What do you want from me, Ashley?"

Ashley just climbed back on the bed and curled up into a ball, exhausted, defeated. "_Nothing_."

--

Tomorrow Spencer will get up and go to Church. She will sit in her pew and rise and kneel and take her communion. She will say her Hail Marys and count her beads and pray for her soul. She will confess to everything. She will beg for forgiveness. _Bless me father, for I have sinned._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: I'm a little worried that the characterization might be off in this chapter, if it seems a little unconvincing keep in mind that, given the setting, Spencer and Ashley (mostly Spencer) can't help but think and act differently.

--

Ashley woke to a jarring headache, something akin to a jackhammer at both her temples. She kept her eyes shut and waited for the nausea to dissipate. _Fucking hangovers._ She couldn't remember how much she'd had to drink or why she was waking up in a bed that clearly wasn't hers. What was worse, she wasn't alone. There was someone decidedly male snoring loudly next to her. She didn't look over, only pulled herself off the bed and into a dirty bathroom. It took her a couple minutes, but bits of the night before pieced themselves together (Aiden's party, Kyla's weed, _Spencer) _and Ashley was able to remember enough. It might have been that or whatever she was on last night, but for whatever reason, Ashley threw up.

--

"I think I wanna get a tattoo," Aiden was saying. Kyla laughed and Ashley snorted. Aiden never failed to say exactly what was on his mind, however small it was. But school hallways weren't exactly a place for revelations like this one. Traditionally.

"Man," Ashley said, "you're way too big a pussy to get a tattoo."

"No, I'm serious." He pulled down the neck of his Stones t-shirt to expose his collarbone. "Like, right here―"

And then there was a collision. Aiden ran into Madison and she pushed Spencer into Ashley and all four fell into the lockers and Kyla just laughed.

"One side, moron!" Madison barked.

"Sorry, man. Sorry."

Ashley quickly warned Aiden not to apologize to her.

"He should apologize, he ran into her!" Spencer scowled. Ashley had knocked her off balance and Spencer's shoulder had taken the brunt of the impact when she hit the locker.

"No one asked you, Spencer," Ashley bit back, her voice filled with venom she didn't feel. She thought she saw something in Spencer's eyes. It was there and then it was gone, like a light switched on then off.

"_Guys,_ " Kyla started. "Let's just go to class."

The trio turned to walk away and then Ashley heard Spencer's voice again. It was just loud enough for the four of them to hear, the thing that Spencer hissed. "Dyke!" Madison started laughing and Ashley turned on her heel. Kyla tried to grab her arm, but Ashley pulled free, stepped right up to Spencer, inches from her face.

"What did you call me?" Ashley's fingers were itching again, this time balling into fists.

Spencer didn't flinch, only narrowed her eyes, lowered her voice. "_Dyke._"

Madison laughed again, harder. Until Ashley's open palm connected with Spencer's cheek. Hard. Spencer struck her back and it escalated to the point that Aiden and two other teachers had to pull the girls apart. They wound up in the principal's office, Ashley with a bandaged welt and Spencer with ice over a swelling lip. Dr. Monroe was in the file room getting their permanent records, which he was, no doubt, prepared to scrawl across with a big red pen. Now the silence in the room has grown a body, its fingers have wrapped themselves around Spencer's and Ashley's throats and they cannot talk.

Finally, finally, Ashley finds her voice. She looks over at Spencer through a blackened eye, notices the cheerleading uniform for the first time today. "Nice sweater."

A half-hearted "Shut up" is all Spencer can muster.

Ashley tries again, feels like someone needs to break the silence before her head bursts with it. "You hit like a girl."

"So do you."

"And yet I'm not the one with an ice pack on my face."

"God, Ashley, _shut up._"

Ashley quiets, feels those fingers wrapping around her neck again, angry and cold. She feels no need to try and pry them loose again. She is like a child kicked out of class, embarassed and free.

"I can't believe you actually hit me," Spencer says quietly.

"You started it."

"No, I didn't."

Ashley dropped her head, leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees. She felt exhaustion creeping in where the silence used to be. It's not like Ashley ran into Spencer on purpose (Spencer was the one who bumped into Ashley!). She didn't have to call Ashley what she did. Spencer was such a _hypocrite_.

"Does it ever get lonely up there on your pedestal, Spencer?"

"What?"

"You are such a fucking hypocrite!"

Spencer shook her head, looked out the window. "Don't swear at me, Ashley."

"If I'm a dyke, what do you think that makes you?"

This was so typical. The story of Ashley's life. Sixteen years as a perpetual screw-up, everything going wrong. It was bad enough that Ashley had to deal with her parent's dysfunctional relationship, Ashley didn't need one of her own. Ashley wasn't stupid, she just had an awesome capacity for doing stupid things. Like Spencer. _God, I can't even fall in love right._

"I don't know," Spencer mumbled.

"What?"

Spencer sighed, rolled her eyes, raised her voice, but didn't look away from the window.

"I don't know what that makes me."

--

Ashley was at The Dive, this hole-in-the-wall record store just outside Columbus, flipping through some old 45s. She was looking for some Zeppelin when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Surprise, surprise, it was Spencer. Ashley couldn't fathom how she could've possibly found her here.

"Kyla said you might be here," Spencer says, reading Ashley's mind.

"Kyla talks too much." Ashley casts a quick glance Spencer's way, sees the same school colors and pleated skirt. "Big game tonight?"

"Dunno, kinda bailed."

"To come here?"

"To find you."

Ashley wants to remind Spencer that they promised Dr. Monroe they'd stay away from each other, keep their noses clean, but who is she kidding? Ashley never turns down an opportunity to stick it to The Man (fuck the establishment and all that).

"Why are you always doing that? Finding me?"

Spencer shrugged, "I don't know."

"You could fill a book with what you don't know," Ashley said. She dropped the album and walked away. As soon as her feet hit the sidewalk, Spencer was following.

"Ashley, please, just talk to me."

"Okay, but just as long as no one can see us, right? I mean, then you'd have to think of some more names to call me, maybe some insults for my mother..."

"Stop it."

"Stop what? It's true!"

"Ashley, I'm trying here," Spencer said. She looked so hopelessly sad, eyes shiny with unshed tears. Ashley felt her resolve wavering, had to build it up again.

"Trying to _what,_ Spencer? Date me, do me? What?"

"I don't--"

"If you say you don't know one more time, I swear to God I might have to slap you again."

Spencer leaned back against the brick wall of some dirty building. The girls were alone on the street when Spencer dropped to the ground, drawing up her legs and hugging her knees. The tears were falling now and Ashley kneeled in front of Spencer, the last of her resolve gone. Spencer crying was... something. It made Ashley feel sick and like her skin didn't fit all of a sudden and like she'd do anything to make Spencer stop. So Ashley did the only thing she could think of, she put her arms around Spencer and held her in the middle of the sidewalk outside some seedy record store. It was awkward. Then less awkward, until it started to feel not awkward at all.

"Shh, baby," Ashley cooed. "It's alright. No more tears."

Spencer was crying apologies into Ashley's hair and Ashley wasn't sure if Spencer was sorry for crying or sorry for everything else. Eventually, Spencer stopped and quieted. But Ashley didn't let go. Spencer pulled back a little and looked Ashley in the face. Her wet eyes reflected everything and Ashley could see everything in the blue. Ashley had no idea what to do now, where they go from here.

Spencer is still looking at her, her eyes contrite and begging. "I'm sorry I called you a dyke."

"Sorry I mangled your face," Ashley said. Spencer laughed (because really, Ashley's heart hadn't been in the fight, despite Spencer's split lip. Ashley would never admit it out loud, but Spencer had totally kicked her ass).

Spencer sighed and dipped her head into the crook of Ashley's neck, her lips tickling the skin there as she spoke. "No one can know."

"Know what?"

"That I love you, too."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**:I'm pretty much disgusted with this next chapter. That may be too strong a term, disgusted, but I'm not happy with it. It feels rushed, unecessary, and utterly lacking. Maybe that's just me. I'm only posting because I really want to move on with it. (Even though I have no idea where I'm going with this.) Basically, I apologize for any impending suckage, just bear with me.

**A/N 2**: This has absolutely nothing to do with anything, like _ever_, but the compulsion to share anyway can't be ignored. I worked about six hours today and have been home for nearly five and cannot shake the feeling that I'm still wearing my Juice It Up! baseball cap. It's like, a phantom hat. I know. WTF?

Anyway, ELM pt. IV...

--

Spencer let Ashley take her home. Since it was still early and there'd be nobody there, Spencer felt brave enough to ask Ashley inside and Ashley follows without question. The inside of Spencer's house is like the outside, well-manicured and lived-in. Sometimes Spencer can get lost in the warm walls covered in memories and feel completely, inexorably safe. Other times the walls are a prison, her family's smiling faces the bars that keep her in.

Spencer follows Ashley up the stairs, watching the sliver of skin between the hem of Ashley's shirt and her (surprisingly) low-slung jeans disappear and reappear with each step she takes. It's not a conscious decision when Spencer's hand reaches out and pinches Ashley's bare hip. Ashley stops so suddenly that Spencer nearly walks into her.

"Ow," Ashley says, but, Spencer thinks, she's so surprised that it came out like a question.

"That did not hurt."

"It did," Ashley's rubbing where Spencer pinched, pouting, "a little."

Spencer just reaches over, slides a hand under Ashley's, her thumb tracing the subtle jut of a hipbone. She has to concentrate on not losing herself in the feel of Ashley's skin before she takes her right now (right here, in her mother's stairwell), no matter how tempting the thought. "Come on." Spencer's fingers don't leave Ashley's side.

--

About seven minutes later Spencer's fingers are splayed across Ashley's ribs. The denim of Ashley's jacket is cool under her hand, beneath that: Ashley's skin, hot and waiting. They're on their backs on Spencer's bed (Spencer remembers the private thrill she got when Ashley had sprawled across the clean sheets without invitation, like she belonged there) and staring at the shadows creeping across the ceiling. There's a tree at the edge of the yard, when the light is right it casts delicate shadows into Spencer's room, like a girl's hand covering her eyes.

It's all weirdly intimate, lying this way with Ashley, which is odd considering just how many times they had actually been _intimate._ This is very different. Ashley hasn't said anything, she's just laying there, quietly breathing. Spencer thinks they should talk, she knows that she has so much she'd like to say. But she isn't good with words, often ends up tripping over her tongue and saying things she doesn't mean or nothing at all. It's how she gets herself into trouble.

She remembers, with aching clarity, exactly how her inability to speak when she needed to lead her here. How she'd said nothing when Ashley had taken her hand and pulled her closer in that cloudy room. How she couldn't remember how to talk when Ashley had pressed her lips to hers. How the only word she knew how say was Ashley's name when she made Spencer come apart under her fingers.

So now Spencer wants to say things, important things that will make Ashley look at her and smile again. But Spencer can't think of _anything._

"Ash?"

Ashley rolled her head until she was facing Spencer, there was a look in her eyes like she was a million miles away and stuck there.

"What's going on up there?" Spencer reaches out, taps Ashley's forehead with a finger.

Ashley shrugs, looks away.

"Come on, I can hear you thinking."

Ashley sighed and looked back, "What are we doing, Spencer?"

"What do you mean?"

Ashley sat up and ran her hands through her mop of curls. "I mean, what are we doing? I still don't understand, like, where are we?"

"Where do you want to be?"

Ashley gives her a significant look, says: "With you."

"You're with me."

"_Now_." Ashley stands, crosses the room. "Now, when there's no one around. When you're bored, when you're horny--"

"_Ashley,_ " Spencer cuts in, "It's not even like that. Why do you always have to pick a fight with me?"

"You asked me what I was thinking, that's what I'm thinking. _Will Spencer want me tonight? Will she talk to me tomorrow? Will she hate me the next day? Will she love me the day after that?_ This is what I'm _always _thinking."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want _you._"

"You have me!" Spencer yelled. Everything about Ashley was so completely aggravating and exhausting (and intoxicating and addictive: the worst kind of drug) and Spencer just didn't understand. What more could she give her?

"You don't get it." Ashley said it sadly, hopelessness filling her voice like a glass ready to overflow or break.

Spencer rose and closed the distance between them. She took Ashley's face in her hands, forced her to maintain eye contact. _Nowhere to go._ "Just tell me what you need to hear."

"Do you love me?"

"I told you I did. Don't you believe me?"

Ashley's eyes fell shut, a tortured sigh shook past her lips, and a biting truth tripped out of her mouth: "I don't know."

It rides in through Spencer's ears and cuts a path over capillaries and veins, through every organ, into every cell. It spreads like a virus that can't be cured, like a demon that can't be exorcised. It settles in the walls of Spencer's heart like a knife twisted. It makes Spencer feel like she could be dying because _Ashley doesn't believe me_.

"Ashley," she begins with as much sincerity and conviction she can muster (her ears are growing hot and there's pressure growing behind her face and it's all she can do to keep from crying). Her hands drop to Ashley's shoulders, prepared to _shake_ the truth into Ashley if she has to. "I have never loved anything else."

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Ashley's eyes come open again. A smile tugs up the corner of her lips until she's grinning, her eyes shining bright (like a brand new mirror and Spencer just wants to step through the looking glass). Ashley reaches out, begins unfastening the buttons on Spencer's blouse, one then another, with practiced ease. "Just keep reminding me."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I know, I know, it's been more than forever since I've posted. Sorry this is so short. But in my defense, this wasn't for lack of interest in the story. I went a little poor, luxuries were sacrificed (i.e. my internet access and phone), but it's all good now. And I apologize, I was really hoping to write some lyrics for Ashley to actually sing to Spencer, but I suck. Poems, I can do. Lyrics? Not so much. But, the show goes on. I thank all who have remained interested, your loyalty means the world. It's winding down, folks. Enjoy.

--

It's a miracle, Spencer thinks, that she hears as well as she does. A million scenarios play out in her head (none of them good) about what could've happened if she hadn't heard the car pull up, the doors slam shut, footsteps in the foyer. It would've been so very, very bad if Spencer hadn't heard her mother coming in time to pull her clothes on, to kick Ashley's under the bed, to push Ashley into the closet (no, the irony was not lost on her). Spencer can just imagine her mother walking in: Spencer and Ashley in just their bras and panties, lips connected, hands _everywhere_. Paula would look near tears, would likely drag Ashley out by her hair and throw her out the front door. The truth would settle on the house like lead, crushing everyone with the weight of it. No. Spencer couldn't have that.

So it's a good thing Spencer heard them coming, hid the evidence, and managed a convincing fib about needing a shower after the game (the one she didn't actually go to). Spencer is able to sneak Ashley out of her bedroom window while the water runs in the bathroom. Ashley climbed down the ladder that was left propped against gutters that had yet to be cleaned. She thanks God for small favors.

Spencer steps under the spray and lets the hot water wash away the fear and the guilt and the excitement of the day. Spencer knows that no matter how "progressive" her family is (one brother adopted and black, the other hopelessly addicted to drugs and all of them trying to hide it), they are not ready for SpencerandAshley.

--

Ashley can't sleep. She tosses and turns for awhile before giving up entirely. This is the first time that Ashley has hoped for Spencer and she didn't come. Ashley reaches for the next best thing. Her guitar lies lonely (but never forgotten) in a corner of the room, like a lover spurned. Ashley pulls it into her lap and it fits under her hands like Spencer does; like it's meant to be there. She's just strumming at first, nothing serious, she's lets her fingers fret what they may. Slowly, the notes take shape, they string themselves together and pretty soon Ashley's got a melody. The lyrics come soon after that, most of them from the draft she'd turned in to Mr. Reinhart. Remember, Ashley's not stupid. She has enough sense to recognize her own talent. So when she can't find her notebook, she draws a couple staffs on the back of her biology syllabus and fills them with notes that are too important to be lost.

Ashley is pretty proud of herself when she climbs back into her bed (regrettably alone) and she thinks she doesn't miss Spencer any less. But at least she's accomplished and her eyelids are heavy enough to pull her into sleep, the song still stuck in her head.

--

Spencer wakes up in an empty bed and the last thing she wants is to go to school. When she joins her family at the breakfast table, she gets lost in the conversation and for once she is grateful that Glen never shuts up. It is easy for her to be alone with her thoughts when everyone is listening to him recount (for the millionth time) the three-point jumpshot he scored at the buzzer. She feigns as much interest as she can muster and nods when appropriate. She's unprepared when Glen makes a point of asking Spencer where she disappeared to at half-time. Spencer feels eight eyes land on her like bombs and she prays that her racing heart isn't forcing blood to her face, nonchalance is her only hope.

"I told you I wasn't feeling well," she tries to sound annoyed. "That's why I went home early, to shower and lie down."

"You didn't tell me that," but she sees the doubt coloring his face.

"Yes, I did. You just weren't listening, as usual."

Glen mutters a "whatever" and goes back to talking with his mouthful. It sounds like something Glen would do (the not-listening), is something he has done, and they accept it without further interrogation. The eyes leave Spencer and take with them the panic and the guilt and the (sometimes) nausea that come when Ashley comes up like this. The panic and nausea and guilt are not about Ashley per se, it's more about Spencer. Panic because she knows how close she is to just telling everyone about Ashley then guilt because she never does. The nausea is probably because she is just _sick_ of all the lying.

--

Ashley is silent on the way to school. Kyla's going on about something and Aiden's pretending he cares. He keeps looking back at Ashley in the rear view mirror. Ashley can see him out of the corner of her eye. It's taking all of her energy to keep her mouth shut. She knows how much Kyla loves him and she tries so hard to respect that, but he makes it really difficult when he's always at her house without a shirt making doe-eyes at her. Despite the fact that he has a penis and is therefore ineligible to receive any romantic attention from Ashley, those looks and those smiles are impossible to ignore. It would be so _easy... _but where's the fun in that?

--

Spencer is having trouble paying attention in class. They're discussing the flaws and merits of characters in this month's literature selection, but Spencer doesn't care about Holden Caulfield or his one-legged prostitute. All she can focus on is the fact that she can see through Ashley's shirt and not turning around to look (again). The last time Spencer looks she sees Adam-Alex or whoever in front of Ashley turned around and talking to her. Apparently, he's noticed the transparency of Ashley's top too. Spencer raises her hand and gets a hall pass; she needs air.

--

Ashley follows Spencer to an empty restroom where she's standing at a sink. She watches Spencer's reflection until she looks up. "What was that?"

"What?"

"You ran out of class pretty fast--"

"What was with that guy, Ashley?"

"What guy?"

"You _know_ what guy, your friend. The one who sits in front of you? He was totally looking at your chest, which you can see through your shirt, by the way."

Ashley crossed her arms and peered at Spencer with raised eyebrows and a half-smile. "Spencer, are you... jealous?"

Ashley watches Spencer's eyes drop as she takes a step back. "No, I'm not _jealous_. No."

Ashley waits and says nothing, smile intact she moves her hand to her hips. "No?"

"No."

"Okay."

"I'm not."

"Fine," Ashley says, hands up in concession. She counts to herself, 3...2...1...

"He shouldn't be looking at you like that! I mean, isn't he your sister's boyfriend?"

"Yeah, so why do you care?"

"Why don't you?"

"Because I don't like him."

"He likes you!"

"Oh my God, you _are_ jealous."

"Of course I'm jealous, you're my―" the sentence died on Spencer's lips and her face turns red, she says nothing after that.

Ashley closes the distance between them until she's within arm's length of Spencer. She keeps her hands in her pockets for fear she might reach out. "I'm your what?"

Spencer's eyes are on her feet and Ashley thinks it may be a little absurd for her to be embarrassed, after all, she is only saying what the both already know (but it's cute anyway). "Just... mine."

Ashley takes Spencer's hands in her own, strokes Spencer's skin with her thumb. "I am yours, so quit worrying about Aiden. Besides the fact that he's Kyla's boyfriend and a _guy, _I'm only interested in you. Okay? I love you."

At this, Ashley half-expects Spencer to tear her hands away or tell her to be quiet. She doesn't expect Spencer to pull her into a hug in the middle of a dirty bathroom. "Me, too."

"Listen," Ashley starts, arms around Spencer's waist. "The Dive's having an open-mic night and I was thinking about playing. Would you come?"

"Come watch you play?"

Ashley sees the hesitation in Spencer's eyes and back-peddles. She drops her hands again and steps back. "Hey, don't worry about it."

"No, no, I want to, really, I just―you know what? Never mind. I'll come."

"Good," Ashley says, "because I won't bother if you're not going to be there."

Spencer smiles before turning back towards the mirror and tosses her hair quickly. "We should get back to class."

"After you."

--


End file.
